


Take a Chance on Me

by velveteencardium



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, First Date, fluff with the slightest trace of spice, light alcohol use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 14:36:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14717963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velveteencardium/pseuds/velveteencardium
Summary: After months of travelling with the Nein, everyone in the group has become accustomed to the wax and wane of Yasha's presence. But that doesn't mean everybody's happy about it. One stormy evening Beau decides to take a chance, causing Yasha to take a chance of her own.





	Take a Chance on Me

The Moon had been swallowed by a gathering army of heavy, hanging clouds. Lanterns outside wavered and warped through wet window panes, ghostly, too much like the wisps in that underground place. Yasha shivered. He would be looking for her soon. His message come at any time: words scraping in her ears like a whetstone on a blade, things no one but she could hear. Sacrifice to serve. Penance to pay. A weight in the window-box next to her.

 

“You’re not thinking of skipping out, are you?”

 

A second reflection joined Yasha’s in the window. Cobalt blue and a dark face studded with piercings. A sly smile. A drink turning ‘round and ‘round in restless fingers.

 

“Not just yet. But soon.”

 

“That’s a shame. You’re nice to have around.” Beau’s smile had faded into something tight, lips slightly pursed as if to keep hidden words from falling out of her mouth.

 

“It’s just what I have to do, you know?”

 

“Before you gotta bail, do you wanna go see if we can find some rat on a stick?”

 

Yasha cocked her head. “Are you making fun of me?”

 

“No. I’m asking you out,” Beau said flatly.

 

“Oh.” Yasha’s stomach plummeted only to quickly be replaced with something warm and fluttering that blossomed upward through her throat and across her face. “Okay. But I don’t- I don’t think it’s a good time.”

 

Beau crooked a leg up under her body. “The way I see it is, I’m helping you prepare for your journey. I’m making sure you’re fed ‘cuz travelling takes a lot of energy. I’m making sure you’re limbered-“

 

Beau was an asshole. She was pushy. Obnoxious. Secretive. Clever, far too clever. Charming. Good in a fight. Eyes that flashed at her, a tongue that darted out to lick whiskey off lips— Very attractive. So Yasha listened past her rambling. Past the murmur in the tavern. Past the spirits whispering in her blood, urging her to make a leap. Nothing.

 

“Only if you promise you’ll let me leave, no questions asked.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“I’ll go with you, but if the time comes, you have to let me leave.”

 

Beau sucked a lip ring as she looked Yasha over. The corners of her mouth curled, catlike. “Deal.” And she put her hand out to Yasha. The nails were cut short.

 

With Beau’s palm warm against the small of her back, the two of them stepped into the damp streets of the city. The trip through the main thoroughfare was quiet. Many of the townsfolk had decided to hide from the incoming rain, which suited Yasha just fine; weather had always been the least of her worries whereas people had always been the majority. The marketplace itself seemed lonely. Few customers clustered into stalls lit with lanterns and fires, soaking in any warmth and dryness to be found. The usual marketplace din was hushed; any sound echoed hollowly back to the ears off of damp stone and wood. They strolled through the dwindling market, cloaks pulled close against the mist.

 

_Pigeons! Getcher coal-braised pigeons here!_

 

A little brazier grill hunched in the corner of a stall, emitting heat, warm light, and the rich cloying smell of roasted meat. The back of the space was lined with columns of wire cages, most of them empty this late in the night. One or two were occupied by fluffy gray lumps—birds dozing with a head tucked under a wing. At the makeshift counter, a plank of wood balanced over stacks of crates and more rusty cages, two halflings bantered with the stall keeper, who leaned against the counter laughing with them. Eventually they slapped down a silver each and in turn received a skewer of roasted pigeon. Nibbling on the meat, they passed in front of Beau and Yasha.

 

Beau jerked a thumb in their direction. “You like pigeon?”

 

“Never tried it.”

 

“Well, I mean they’re basically rats with wings.”

 

“I’m not picky. I’ll eat anything.”

 

Beau cocked an eyebrow. “I can dig that.”

 

She ducked under the tattered canvas covering the stall. “Ay, we’ll take, uh… I dunno, like three or four?” She glanced back at Yasha, who nodded.

 

“That’ll be two silver each.”

 

“Two? You only charged them one.” Beau angled her head back the way the halflings had gone.

 

“Friends and Family discount. Two silver for everyone else.”

 

“Nah, don’t play me, man. One silver.”

 

“Two.”

 

“No because that’s bullsh-“

 

The gnomish stall keeper pulled a large, bloodied cleaver out of a pocket on his apron and slammed it down. It stuck resolutely into the splintering wood. Beau flinched and then grumbled something about unsanitariness. Her hand grasped for the little purse tied to her belt. She dumped out a small handful of silvers, more clink and clatter against the counter than she would have liked. In dry, sooty fingers, the stall keep pinched four skewers off the grate above the fire. He handed them off to Beau, his finger soot rubbing off on her own.

 

Yasha matched Beau’s step as she left the stand.

 

“That guy was fucking crazy,” Beau said. “His food better be damn fuckin’ good.” Hesitantly bringing a bird to her lips, she took a bite. “Fuck, it’s actually really good.”

 

Gnawing away, she held one up to Yasha who leaned over to take it in her teeth. Beau let out a wheezy giggle. Yasha found out that pigeon was a bit oily, but moist and succulent like the dark-meat in chicken. Not bad at all. Soon there was nothing left but bamboo sticks and bones, which she cracked open with her back teeth. No marrow. A pity. The extra protein would have been nice. She spat a mouthful of bone splinters into the gutter.

 

“Was… Was that good?” Beau asked, slightly awestruck, slightly aroused, and the tiniest bit intimidated.

 

“Hmmm?” “The inside bits? In the bones?”

 

“Oh, the marrow! None in this. Which is a shame, you know? I really like it.”

 

“Oh yeah, that sucks. We’ll have to get something, uh, beefier next time.” Yasha glanced over at Beau, who waggled her eyebrows before being distracted elsewhere; they were passing a little shop—not quite a tavern, not quite a brewery—stacked with bottles of spirits and wine.

 

“You wanna get something to wash this down?” she asked.

 

Yasha nodded and ducked in. Oil lanterns hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glowworm’s aura over the rows and rows of bottles that marched like soldiers across wooden shelves. Taking up space in the middle of the floor was a rickety table was stacked with a fancy arrangement of wine and dining ware. A plump woman with curly golden hair leaned over the counter to greet her. Ignoring everything else, Yasha grabbed what was nearest—a dully gleaming bottle the color of emeralds sitting in a wicker basket near the counter. “I’ll take this,” she said, waving it to the plump woman.

 

“Oh, a fine vintage! A Shiraz from a vineyard just outside of Rexxentrum, it’s-“

 

“I don’t care. I just want to buy it.”

 

The woman at the counter looked frightened. Her hand trailed to an unseen space beneath the till.

 

“Please.” Yasha added.

 

“T-Two gold.”

 

Yasha dropped some coin on the counter and turned away.

 

Outside, Beau was twirling a throwing star pinched between her thumb and forefinger. “Hey, that’s some good shit!” she said, pocketing the star. “You didn’t have to go all out for this.”

 

“It was the first thing I saw,” Yasha mumbled.

 

Beau took the bottle and gave the cork a yank. _Hnngg… mmmnghgh… dammit…_

 

“Give it here.” Yasha took the bottle by the neck, clamped her back teeth around the cork, and, with a grunt and a tug and a merry little pop, ripped the cork right out. She spit it over her shoulder and took a slug from the bottle. Beau let out a hearty whoop, taking the bottle from Yasha and having a slug of her own. It was dry, made from grapes more puckered than the Cobalt Soul nuns.

 

“That was fuckin’ sick!” she crowed. Her voice got a little huskier. “You’re really great to have around.”

 

Yasha felt her cheeks heat up from more than a wine flush. “Well, you know, I do what I can to make myself useful.”

 

They continued on, watching others gather the last of their shopping and head home for the night. Fires and candles and lanterns winked out as shops shut down around them. On the outskirts of the market, they passed a little tavern, hardly more than a shack, squatting in the shelter of two larger buildings. A group of men emerged, stumbling and laughing and hanging on one another. Roars of laughter rattled through the narrow space as a half-elf with greasy black hair playfully shoved a short, stocky human man, who stumbled into their path. The man caught himself on Beau and wobbled upright. She was sent sprawling into the street where the bottle of wine smashed against the cobblestone, its contents mixing with a cold, slimy pool of gutter water.

 

“Aw, motherfucker!” The gutter-wine darkened Beau’s coat and pants as she scraped herself off the ground.

 

“Hey. Watch it,” Yasha said, leveling an icy glare at the group of drunken assholes.

 

“Ahhh, fuck off,” growled the human man.

 

The half-elf clapped him on the back and shot a glance at Yasha and Beau. “Daft bitch should watch where she’s going.”

 

“No, it was your fault.” Yasha’s voice crackled with something grown sharp and dangerous.

 

The man, made foolhardy by alcohol, stepped up to Yasha. The dome of his greasy, balding scalp barely reached the jut of her collarbone. He jabbed a finger at her chest. “I won’t be lectured by some outlander freak and her-”

 

The toes of his dingy hide boots barely scrapped cobblestone as she lifted him up by a fistful of grimy wool tunic. The air buzzed with latent static. Yasha’s hair bristled in the current like the hackles of an angry wild animal. With her heterochromatic eyes and disgusted snarl, she seemed a wolf ready to go for the throat. The man seemed to regret his attitude.

 

“Ay, you let go a’ Ollie!”

 

Another human man with a tangled, greying beard lurched forward, brandishing slurs and a broken bottle at Yasha. He stumbled, slamming into the ground as Beau took her staff and in one deft move swept his legs out from under him. The man laid moaning in the glass and gravel until the heel of Beau’s boot broke his nose, blood spattering beneath it like a smashed inkwell. In retaliation the greasy half-elf and a halfling covered in tattoos charged, roaring executioners come for her head. Yasha roared back, veins in her neck popping, and slammed their short, stocky friend into them like a human cudgel. The cluster of bastards collided with a graveyard of empty barrels and crumpled.

 

“Hey! What’s goin’ on?!” A patrolling Crown’s Guard was running down the alley towards the lot of them.

 

“Bail! Bail, bail, bail!” Beau caught Yasha by the hand and the two of them bolted down the alleyway.

 

Weaving through the maze of alleys and back streets, Beau and Yasha made damn sure to put trouble far behind them. After what felt like miles of running, Beau slowed, putting her weight against a crumbling brick wall. Her breath came in measured pants. “Think we lost ‘em?”

 

Yasha looked around. The street had emptied out into a little courtyard, deserted, but for an old fountain: a wheel-shaped pool of stained white stone with a weathered column spitting streams of water into the basin below. There were three other entrances into the courtyard besides the way they’d come. No one in sight. No voices but the forlorn sighing of the fountain.

 

“I don’t think we’ve been followed, no.”

 

The fountain’s lonely sigh was drowned out by a sudden rumble. The storm had finally arrived. As a spear of lightning blasted apart the sky, a voice like a whetstone on a blade murmured in her ear. _Yasha…_ She went numb, staring past Beau and the fountain at the roiling clouds descended on the city. _Yasha…_ Again thunder broke like two soldiers colliding. _Yasha…_ Rain began to fall in a drip of iron cold. _Yasha!_

 

Fingers dug into her arm. Her hand darted up to grab a wrist covered in jangling jade bangles. Her eyes met cobalt blue in a face darkened with concern. She started. Beau’s brow furrowed and her fingers stayed on Yasha’s arm in spite of the white-knuckle grip on her wrist.

 

“Hey, what… Are you feeling okay?”

 

Yasha enveloped her, hands grasping Beau’s face as she obliterated the space between them. Their shared warmth burned away the chill creeping in Yasha’s veins.

 

“I have to go now.” Her eyes pierced through Beau like poisoned darts; chemicals flooded her brain, heart, and somewhere a little further south, inducing intoxication that left her helpless. Her systems overwhelmed, all she could do was nod. Yasha nodded back, a few curt little bobs that rattled the beads in her hair, and then kissed her. The lingering tang of wine bloomed between their mouths. Beau’s heart, brain, and somewhere south all throbbed. She tried to tangle her arms around Yasha’s neck, weave her fingers into a mane of black and white, but Yasha broke first.

 

“Thank you, Beau.” Her fingers brushed Beau’s jaw as they slipped away. “It’s been good…”

 

“W- We’ll have to do it again sometime.” Beau stammered.

 

Yasha turned away—away from the warmth, which vanished like a snuffed altar candle—and dashed forward into the clap of the thunderhead.


End file.
